


Cain

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Brother Acquisition, Broken Bones, Gen, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason is adamantly refusing to give him one, Strangulation, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Titans Tower au, Whump, he's not attached to this baby bird no siree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: Jason has a plan for dealing with the new Robin – he’s going find his replacement and impart a slow and painful lesson on why the kid should’ve left the costume well alone.The kid.He was just akid.(Jason’s overprotective brother instincts clash violently with his murderous urges.  Tim is not quite sure which one is winning.)
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 270
Kudos: 2148
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What? Yet another Jason-is-a-reluctant-big-brother story? When I uploaded the last one yesterday? (Look, I don't make the rules, and if I knew how to stop, none of us would be here.)
> 
> Also, story has nothing to do with Cassandra, I tried thinking of a better title and gave up.
> 
> NEW: epilogue with Dick's and Bruce's reactions to the aftermaths of Tim and Jason's meetings.

They had hated him. They had sneered when he’d shown up in the Robin suit, because he was never going to measure up to the perfect, golden Dick Grayson. They had hated him, and yet they handed Timothy Drake the keys to the goddamn throne.

Another tick in the column, another piece of evidence sliding neatly into the case detailing exactly why Jason had never been good enough, another motive stacking on top of all the other reasons why the Replacement had to suffer.

The Titans. Children playing at being heroes. It was funny, wasn’t it, how everything seemed like a game right up until you died.

Jason only killed the people that deserved it, and being a bully did not justify murder, no matter how badly his hands itched as he took out each of the metas with non-lethal means.

It meant his fingers were shaking by the time he found the Replacement, so ready to hear the crack of fist sinking into bone that he attacked before he made the conscious decision to.

The Replacement dodged, bo staff sweeping out. Nightwing-trained. Yet another tick in the column. Dick had barely been able to stomach being near Jason.

“Who are you?” the Replacement asked, bo staff whipping through the air. He knew how to use it, and Jason stayed at a careful distance as he circled the kid.

“I think that’s _my_ line,” Jason growled. The kid tilted his head quizzically. “That suit isn’t yours,” Jason snapped.

There was a flicker of stillness, unnoticeable unless someone was looking. “If you’re looking for Robin, you’ve found the right address,” the kid said, like he was some kind of receptionist, twisting slowly to keep Jason in his field of view, “If you’re looking for Nightwing, I’m afraid he’s not here.”

No mention of the dead kid. Jason had stalked by his memorial in the Hall of Heroes – _Jason_ was the only thing written on it, because they couldn’t add _Robin_ , not when there was still a kid in the suit.

“No, Replacement,” Jason said, and his lips curved into a smile at the way the kid couldn’t quite disguise the flinch, “I know exactly who I came for.”

And then he drew his gun.

The first bullet missed as the kid threw himself sideways, but the second seared across a shoulder with a pained yelp as Jason stalked after the Replacement. 

The kid tried the comms, but Jason had systematically shut down everything in the Tower, and knocked out everyone inside. Temporarily. They could even call this a security test.

“How did you get inside?” the Replacement called out, hiding behind a column. Jason shifted to get a better angle, but the kid was moving with him.

“The door was unlocked,” Jason called back. They had never disabled his security codes. “Are we going to play cat and mouse?”

Something whistled through the air, and Jason cursed – he didn’t manage to jerk the gun back until the birdarang had embedded itself into the muzzle. Jason snarled and threw the gun away. “Cute,” he said, stalking towards the kid’s hiding place, “Party tricks.”

The Replacement straightened out from behind the pillar, bo staff in hand, and gave a half-shrug. “Don’t bring a gun to a vigilante fight.”

Jason ignored the quip in favor of trying to cave the kid’s ribs in. The Replacement jumped back, staff flaring out, and Jason ducked to dodge, attempting to close the gap between them. If he got out of the staff’s range, forced a hand-to-hand fight, then the kid wouldn’t be so cocky.

He kept ducking the staff, slipping to the side and jerking back to dodge it, weaving as though he was afraid of letting it land, waiting for –

There. The kid moved forward, throwing his weight into a fierce swing at Jason’s chest. He would have to contort awkwardly to avoid it.

Jason didn’t avoid it. He let it slam into his chest, let the body armor redistribute the force to leave a hell of a bruise but no broken bones, and he grabbed the kid’s wrist.

He twisted it with a _snap_.

To the Replacement’s credit, he didn’t scream. Not even when Jason wrenched the staff from his broken hand and aimed an elbow at his ribs – the kid dodged, skidding back a few steps and clutching his injured hand to his chest. Jason grinned, took a moment to mourn the fact that his helmet covered his facial expressions, and twirled the staff with flair, the move almost instinctive from watching a different, showier Robin.

The kid stilled.

“Who are you?” he asked again, staring at the helmet like he could see through it if only he tried hard enough.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the _smart_ one?” Jason sneered, the words a little too raw to be a proper jibe.

The smart one. The rich one. The black-haired, blue-eyed kid from the _right_ side of the tracks. A detective to live up to Batman’s legacy, and the blueblood son Bruce wanted.

The kid edged back a step. And another. And – he took off sprinting when Jason lunged forward, but he wasn’t fast enough. The staff nearly cut his legs out from under him and it was beyond easy to reach out, grab the Replacement’s injured arm, and use it to slam him into a wall.

The first punch smashed the kid’s nose, and the second would leave a stunning bruise spanning his right eye. Jason resisted the urge to break the kid’s cheekbone, and opened his fist.

Fingers curled around a lean throat, and _squeezed_.

“Looks like I caught a little bird,” he said slowly, tightening his grip, “Guess it’s time to clip its wings.”

Something in his veins sang with victory. The kid clawed at his hand, and gasped when Jason took the opportunity to raise it a little higher, until the Replacement was on his tiptoes. Jason debated pulling out his other gun and shooting somewhere with a harder kick than a grazed shoulder, but with the Replacement pinned like a target, he was aware that it would be too easy to do more damage than he wanted.

“Why are you doing this?” the kid choked out, struggling harder, “I haven’t done anything to you!”

Jason paused. Reached up to his helmet latches with his free hand. And pulled it off.

“You _sure_ about that, Replacement?”

The kid’s eyes went wide and he stopped struggling. Just went completely limp with a small, strangled gasp. “Jason?” the kid croaked. His hands dropped, like Jason wasn’t still, at this very moment, choking him.

“What’s the matter, kid?” Jason laughed, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He used the opportunity to pull out a blade – he rather liked the shocked look on the kid’s face, and a knife to the gut would replicate it easily enough.

But the Replacement was clearly waiting for the distraction, no matter how stunned he looked, because the instant Jason’s eyes were off him, the kid twisted, aiming a kick that landed in the growing bruise from the staff strike, and Jason stumbled back as the Replacement tore free.

He didn’t run, though. Stupid kid. Just kept staring at Jason like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Take a picture,” Jason drawled, “It’ll last longer.”

The kid flinched.

Jason rolled his shoulders back and twisted the knife in his hands. Blade in the gut. Another couple of broken bones. Maybe he could curl his fingers around that throat again, a sudden _jerk_ –

No. No murder. He wasn’t here to kill anyone.

“You’re alive,” the kid said, his voice torn somewhere in the middle of wonder, confusion, and fear.

“Sure seems that way.”

“What – _how_ – when –” The kid paused and swallowed as Jason lifted the blade and let the light dance off the edge. “Bruce is going to be so happy that you’re alive.”

Green. Instant, flooding green. Jason could almost imagine the ringing of the buzzer – exactly the wrong fucking thing to say.

“Batman is _definitely_ not going to be happy when I’m done,” Jason growled and lunged forward, spinning on one heel and lashing out with a kick – it caught the kid square in the chest, and Jason grinned, wild and bloodthirsty, when he heard the _crack_.

The kid scrambled to his feet, his face ashen, an arm curled tight around his ribs.

“Jason,” he said quietly, his gaze flicking from Jason to the knife and back to Jason, “You can come home.”

“I don’t have a home, Replacement,” Jason said coldly. The kid took a step back, Jason took a step forward.

“Why,” the kid swallowed, “Why are you doing this?”

“You’re the one that wanted to be Robin,” Jason hissed, “I’m just here to show you exactly what that entails.”

The kid’s gaze snapped back to his face. For one stretching moment, both of them were still.

And then the kid spun on his heel and took off running. So he had some self-preservation instincts after all.

Jason followed, making no attempt to hide his footsteps. With his wounds, the kid would be easy enough to catch. Jason hadn’t quite finished playing with his food, and this was a meal he intended to enjoy.

Jason caught up to him on the balcony ringing the inside of the training hall, and the green purred in pleasure at the way the Replacement froze when Jason emerged from the shadows – a rabbit locked in a predator’s gaze.

“Going somewhere?” Jason asked conversationally.

The kid darted a look to the opposite edge of the balcony, and then took off running for the stairs. Jason followed him, watching in amusement as the kid nearly slammed into the corner as he took the turn at full speed, sprinting for the staircase that led down to the ground floor. The Replacement darted a quick glance back to gauge how close Jason was, his stride faltering, before twisting back to the front – but he overcompensated and swung too hard.

The kid hit the edge of the railing right where the stairs started, and the force of his momentum tipped him over.

The thud of the Replacement hitting the floor was overshadowed by the sharp _crack_ that sliced through the air – closely followed by an earsplitting scream.

Jason peered over the edge of the balcony, something cold settling into his stomach. The kid was curled up clutching his left leg, which was lying at a jagged angle. Choked sobs filled the room as the kid curled tighter and hissed, his fingers digging into his leg right above the break.

Jason placed a hand on the railing, and jumped. He made no attempt to disguise his landing, rolling cleanly to absorb the impact and straighten to his feet.

Another strangled sob. The kid tried to push back onto his feet, his gaze fixed on Jason, despite his definitely broken leg and the way that one of his arms was hanging flat. And then he shifted his weight, and his face went sheet white a split-second before he crumpled.

The green was gone, and it left nothing but numbness and a dull, creeping nausea in its wake.

Jason took slow, careful steps forward. The kid was trying to drag himself away on hands and knees, except his right wrist was shattered, both shoulders were injured, he had a badly broken leg and more than a couple of broken ribs.

Like Jason had. Back in that warehouse. Dragging himself forward, inch by inch, because he’d had no other choice, because he was willing to crawl across broken glass if it meant getting away from a monster.

The kid was crying. It was soft – hitched breaths instead of sobs, tears hidden behind the domino, minute trembling through his limbs – but it was there.

The kid. The _kid_. Because he was fifteen years old. As old as Jason was when he’d been locked in a warehouse with a bomb.

Jason stared at his hands and watched distantly as they shook.

He’d put on the Red Hood helmet so that he could tear it away from the Joker. He wanted to destroy the clown’s legacy – and here he was, perpetuating it instead.

Another Robin. Another mess of broken limbs. Another kid desperately crawling to a freedom out of reach.

The kid shifted again, levering up onto his good leg, trying to lunge for the doorway. The instant he shifted his weight to his bad leg, he let out a sharp, agonized cry and collapsed like a puppet with no strings.

He didn’t move after that.

Jason’s feet were walking without his permission, his body locked into the ride as he crept closer to the kid. He was still breathing, but he seemed to be out for the count, broken leg twisted painfully beneath him.

Jason could just…leave. He’d accomplished what he’d come here for. He had shaken up the team, made sure it would take a good long time before any of them felt safe in their beds. He’d attacked his replacement, and imparted an important lesson on the lifespan of birds.

He could just go.

Jason crouched next to the kid and regarded him for a long moment. The suit he’d made modifications to. The bright golden _R_ on his chest, the one that filled Jason with so many emotions he couldn’t get a handle on them all. The domino covering his eyes, making it slightly more difficult to imagine a kid behind the mask.

But Jason knew who he was. He knew what Timothy Drake looked like. He didn’t need to work very hard to imagine the kid’s face with a broken nose and a bruise blooming over one red-rimmed eye.

He could go. The kid’s injuries weren’t life-threatening, and the bullet graze wasn’t big enough to require immediate attention. The others would wake up. They would be fine. The kid would be fine.

Jason exhaled, low and uneven, and shifted forward.

He carefully curled an arm below the kid’s knees, and another below jutting shoulder blades, careful to cross the kid’s arms over his chest to avoid jostling the dislocated shoulder. He lifted – the kid was _light_ – and crossed through the doorway, heading for the foyer.

His limbs were jittery, his fingers ached with the effort to keep them from curling into fists, and his breaths were coming out too shallow and too fast. The world was actually starting to go a bit dizzy by the time Jason reached the zeta tubes.

He opened the one that led to the Cave and tucked the kid inside. His passcodes worked here too, and he shut the zeta tube door right before it activated.

And then he walked out of Titans Tower.

He’d won. His mission had been successful. His plan had gone off without a hitch.

So why did he feel like a failure?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jason: i'm going to kill the replacement.  
> jason, five minutes after meeting tim: oh no


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason trying really hard to resist his big brother instincts brings me so much joy.

Jason caught sight of a black mop of hair and froze in the middle of the grass.

Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, even when Jason was trying to avoid the kid he saw him everywhere.

Jason hesitated before scaling the small hill, keeping his footsteps silent as he approached from behind. The kid was sitting with his back to the headstone, his left leg stretched out in front of him, swamped in a cast. His right hand was in a wrist brace, but aside from some faint yellowing around one eye, there was no visible evidence of any of the other injuries.

Of course, it had been nearly two weeks – two weeks of having to duck a suddenly furious Batman and Nightwing as they scoured the city, hunting under every brick in Crime Alley as Jason tried to take control of the gangs. He’d thought that the duffel bag of heads would be enough of a warning to back off, but it had only made them more determined.

No sign of the birdie, but he was clearly too injured for patrol. Jason crept closer, wondering what he was doing here, and stilled when he heard the kid’s voice.

“So, you tried to kill me,” the kid said bitterly. Jason froze. “You – I didn’t even know you were _alive_ until you fractured my wrist, which was a fantastic introduction. I didn’t – I imagined what it would be like. If you were alive.”

Oh. The kid wasn’t talking to _him_.

“If I joined up alongside you. Or if you came back. A trick. A miracle.” 

Funny. Jason didn’t think it was a miracle. Dying and coming back to life had hurt far too much.

“I don’t get it,” the kid said softly, “Why didn’t you just come home? You can have Robin back.”

That was a dagger to the heart. A _poisoned_ dagger. In all of Jason’s imaginings, he’d never dreamed of getting the suit _back_. And now it was too late. Jason knew full well that Batman would never let a murderer wear the R.

“Why are you doing all of this? Bruce wants you back. Dick wants you back. What are you trying to prove?”

Batman and Nightwing wanted to pulverize his bones and lock him in Arkham. Either the kid was an idealist or he was oblivious – either way, he was a little too naïve for the colors he wore, especially after Jason had made it undeniably clear that he wasn’t looking for a happy reunion.

The kid curled up, dropping his head on one raised knee, and Jason took the opportunity to sneak a little closer.

“It’s not fair,” the kid said, his voice hoarse. Jason could feel the green stir at that.

“Life isn’t fair,” Jason rejoined harshly.

The kid twisted automatically, surging to his feet – and stifled the shriek as he shifted onto his broken leg, crumpling into a pile of limbs as he clutched his ribs.

Jason leaned against his own gravestone and smirked.

The kid scrambled back, but the wrist brace wasn’t designed to hold his weight and he gasped as he was forced to a stop, curling up to cradle the injured limb.

Jason slowly, leisurely straightened off the gravestone.

“How long – how long have you been standing there?” the kid stuttered, blue eyes going wide.

Jason’s malicious smile widened, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Replacement?”

The kid made a strangled noise and squeezed his eyes shut as Jason sauntered closer.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Jason said, which was a bit of a mouthful. “Do you mind if I call you Timmy?”

Timmy shuddered, his breaths coming too fast and too high.

“Timmy,” Jason said pleasantly, because he was not going to beat up unarmed and injured teenagers, especially in civilian disguise, no matter how badly the green was hissing at him. “Come here often?”

Timmy didn’t say anything and Jason leaned closer, until he was practically crouching over the kid.

“I asked you a question, Replacement.” Okay, so it was getting a tad difficult to keep being friendly. “I’m going to get a bit upset if you keep ignoring me, Timothy.”

The kid clenched his fingers in the grass, his eyes still closed, his shoulders hunched like he was waiting for a blow, his breathing ticking slowly into the realm of hyperventilation.

Jason had a hand on the kid’s chin before he realized what he was doing, his grip on the edge of too-tight. “ _Look at me_ ,” Jason hissed.

Timmy snapped his eyes open. Jason was looming over him, well aware of the snarl on his face and way his eyes flickered green whenever he was angry, and he watched as the kid’s breathing hitched and tears spilled past the edges of bright blue eyes.

The green hesitated.

Jason shifted back, letting go of the kid and sprawling out of easy reach. He extended a leg to rest on top of the kid’s cast, because he had questions and he wasn’t letting the kid wriggle out of giving answers.

“Come here often?” Jason repeated, glaring at the headstone. His fingers curled into grass and dirt, keenly aware that he’d clawed through it, desperate and gasping and panicked and –

“Some – sometimes,” the kid said quietly, scrubbing at his face. His fingers were trembling.

“Really?” Jason drawled, tilting his head to stare at Timmy. The kid shuddered when his gaze landed on him. “Have a lot to say to a dead boy?”

The kid didn’t respond. The kid ducked his shoulders and kept his mouth shut, staring at the grass. Like Jason was going to punch him for saying the wrong thing.

Jason spit out a vicious curse and the kid flinched back, instinctively raising his arms to protect his face.

It made Jason sick.

He got up and stared at his gravestone for a long moment – the dead boy he was trying desperately to avenge – before turning back to the kid.

“The grave’s empty, Timbo,” Jason said, his voice a shade too flat to be flippant, “If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was ask.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away, unsure of whether he wanted to punch the kid or hug him, and equally disgusted by both options.

* * *

This time Jason was the one doing the stalking. The kid had been lurking around at what had once been Jason’s resting place, it was only fair that he got to see where the kid slept.

He had _assumed_ that the kid was in the Manor or the Cave, but he was clearly mistaken because he hadn’t even cleared the second floor landing when he heard slow, shuffling footsteps and muttered grumbling. Jason turned back to the stairs and watched as that black-haired mop limped into view.

The crutches were gone, the cast replaced with a walking boot, and it looked like the kid was thoroughly ignoring any instructions to take it easy because he had three heavy binders in his arms and his face was red with exertion.

Jason settled at the top of the stairs and waited for the kid to notice him.

He was actually four steps from the top when his gaze drifted up, caught on Jason, and his whole face blanched. He stumbled back – but he was on the stairs, there was no _back_ , and the kid flailed in sudden terror as he slipped and –

Jason’s fingers closed around a bony elbow and the kid jerked to a stop.

He stared at Jason. Jason stared back.

“You really have shitty luck with staircases, Timmy,” Jason said, his throat dry, trying very hard to pretend like his heart hadn’t kicked into fifth gear. The kid let out a shaky exhale, his arm trembling with the aftereffects of that jolt of adrenaline.

Jason pulled the kid back and didn’t let go until he was sitting down, safe from tripping and breaking yet another limb.

“Tim,” the kid said.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Tim.”

“Sure thing, Timmers,” Jason turned away and went after the binders that had fallen out of the kid’s arms. He didn’t think he could look at those wide eyes right now.

“What are you doing here?” Shaky. Wary. But the kid’s voice remained reasonably level.

“Breaking and entering,” Jason replied absently, picking up the binders. They were full of photos and Jason flipped one open – easy blackmail on the Replacement, Jason hadn’t even considered going for the baby photos – and froze.

The pictures weren’t of Tim. They were of Robin.

They were of _Jason_.

“Where did you get these?” Jason asked, doing an admirable job of keep the murder out of his tone. Green was oozing back in and his fingers tightened on the plastic binders.

“I took them.” Which was startling enough a statement that Jason looked up to see Tim watching him with a carefully neutral expression, still sitting on the top step.

Jason looked at the pictures, flipping through the pages – Robin, Robin and Batman, Batman alone, Robin, Robin, _Robin_. Jason must’ve been, what, fourteen in these photos?

Jason stared at Tim, stared at the photos, and started at Tim again. He tried to do the mental math, but his brain was just screeching _kid_ _he was a kid_ on a loop. How had Jason never noticed a kid taking pictures of him? How had _Batman_ never noticed? Some of these shots had to have been taken from neighboring rooftops, how had –

Wait a minute.

Jason took a couple of steps at a leap and leaned in to stare at Tim’s face as the kid’s eyes widened, startled – if he added some baby fat, got rid of the slight wariness –

“You’re that stalker,” Jason said, realizations slotting into place, “The one with the expensive camera. Who got stuck on the water tower.”

The kid slouched, which did nothing to hide the brilliant red flush crawling up his face.

Jason didn’t even _try_ to hide the slow grin stretching across his.

“Oh, kid, I don’t even remember how many ridiculous perches I had to rescue you and that stupid camera from,” Jason laughed, flopping down next to him and cracking the binder open again, “I should’ve realized it was only a matter of time before you were out with a mask and cape.”

The pictures mainly focused on Jason, probably because Batman was very good at avoiding cameras, even ones he didn’t know about, and he flicked through them with interest – the kid was a good photographer, especially to catch action shots like these – nearly reaching the end when the pictures of Robin abruptly…stopped.

Jason felt his smile slide off his face. The last few pages were only Batman, or a vaguely Bat-shaped shadow in the darkness. He shut the binder with more force than necessary.

He opened the next binder despite himself, despite the green slithering around him and hissing into his ears and –

This Robin was taller. Slimmer. Wore a smile that Jason had never been able to replicate.

“You were doing this since _Dick_ was Robin?” Jason said in a voice that was only slightly strangled. Jason wasn’t even going to do the math on that one, it would only upset him.

“I’ve been taking pictures since I was nine,” Tim said, and Jason sighed. _Goddammit_.

“At least _these_ might be a blackmail opportunity,” Jason said, flipping through the pages quickly, “Please tell me you have at least one photo of Dickhead crashing into a wall.” The pictures were of an older Dick though, probably on the verge of becoming Nightwing, and he and Batman were rarely in the same shot.

And then suddenly, like a flip had been switched, Robin was smaller and shorter – perched on a gargoyle, grappling through the air, lurking in Batman’s shadow, standing on a rooftop, looking up at Batman with a bright smile with a dark glove ruffling his hair –

Jason nearly tore the photo in his haste to extract it. Next to him, Tim had gone completely still. Jason wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing.

Robin was looking at Batman with undisguised happiness.

Jason didn’t even know if his face still knew how to make that expression.

He wanted to tear the photo to pieces. He wanted to tuck it away somewhere safe. He wanted –

He wanted to be twelve again, safe and loved and utterly convinced that Robin was magic.

Jason folded the photo and stuck it into his pocket. “Nice pictures,” he said flatly, closing the binder. He left without taking a single look back.

When he got back to his safehouse, he pulled out the picture again. Stared at it for a minute that felt like an eternity, consumed by longing for a life that had died a violent, fiery death. Squeezed his eyes shut and breathed out raggedly.

And took out his lighter and held the photo to the flame.

* * *

Jason leaned against the motorcycle, watching the open gates and waiting for his prey. The flow of students had begun to trickle out, but his target was probably still limping around in that walking boot and Jason waited patiently as the crowd thinned out.

Tim hobbled out of the gates, already turning for the bus stop when his gaze scanned past Jason and his bike – and caught and held. Jason grinned.

Tim froze in the middle of the street.

Jason held up a second helmet in wordless invitation.

Tim glanced around, his gaze skittering across the passerby like he was looking for someone to come save him from the big, bad Red Hood, but no one was paying the slightest amount of attention.

Tim exhaled, his shoulders slumping, and limped closer.

“What do you want?” the kid snapped, significantly more confident in a public space with several witnesses. Not that it mattered – Jason wasn’t planning on killing the kid, and they were driving to a secondary location anyway.

“Get on,” Jason said, tossing the second helmet to him and slipping his own back on before he straightened the motorcycle.

“No – Jason, what the hell are you doing here – I’m not getting –”

“Get on the bike,” Jason said pleasantly, “Or I will _make_ you get on the bike.” Tim darted a nervous glance at all the people around them. “This is Gotham, kid. You think anyone is going to stop me?”

Tim shot him a truly nasty look before he jammed the helmet on his head and awkwardly maneuvered his broken leg over the seat. Jason waited until the kid had stopped fidgeting and loosely curled two fingers in Jason’s leather jacket. “Hold on tight,” Jason grinned, and took off.

Tim made a tiny yelp, his grip on Jason’s jacket tightening instinctively, and Jason laughed – this was Gotham in the peak of afternoon traffic, Jason would be lucky if he could hit thirty miles an hour on his way to their destination.

The kid didn’t say a word until Jason eased the bike to a stop, turning off the engine and waiting for the kid to hop off. Tim had removed the helmet and was staring at the shop sign with a confused frown, not noticing that his hair was sticking up at odd angles.

Jason muffled a snicker and did not point it out. Instead, he headed for the shop, pushing the kid in front of him – who still looked like he was in a dazed stupor.

“What is this?” the kid breathed out as the door jingled.

Jason gave him a blank look. “An ice cream shop.”

“Why are we here?”

“Because I want ice cream.”

The kid scowled, “Why am _I_ here?”

Jason’s expression became a tad less blank. His fingers didn’t curl into fists, but it was a near thing. He’d spotted the ice cream shop on a drive through the city and, for a moment, had been hit with a memory that made him _furious_. And now here he was, embarking on some half-baked plan to replace his previous memory of this place with something better because Jason couldn’t have inconvenient intrusive thoughts distracting him all the time.

“Because I want to send you back to the Cave on a sugar high,” Jason answered, the words overlapping and echoing with a cheerful voice from years past.

Tim gave him an askance glance and did a brief scan of the current occupants of the ice cream parlor before he concluded that the shop wasn’t a front and walked up to the counter to order a sundae. Jason asked for a Neapolitan milkshake and paid for both of them before carrying their orders to a booth set in the corner.

Jason took the seat that put his back to the wall and gave him a clear view of the entrance. Tim narrowed his eyes and slid grumpily into the seat that left him facing away from the rest of the parlor.

The place was…warm. Homey. Not too bright or colorful, not creepily attached to aesthetic like half the shops in Gotham. It was a nice place.

“…Have you been here before?”

It had opened four years ago. When Jason was fifteen. _‘We’ll go the next time I come to Gotham, Little Wing!’_

“No,” Jason said coldly.

Tim wisely turned his attention back to his sundae. Jason sipped angrily at his milkshake and tried to ignore a dead boy’s memories. He didn’t know why this place had gotten to him. It was just another broken promise in a sea of broken promises. He didn’t care about them. He didn’t care about any of them.

Tim exhaled slowly and when Jason turned his attention back to the kid, he was staring straight at him.

“Jason,” Tim said, his tone level, “Why are we here?”

“I already told you, I wanted –”

“If you wanted ice cream, you could’ve gotten it by yourself,” Tim said flatly. Jason stared at him and Tim huffed out a frustrated exhale. “Jason. _Why am I here_?”

“Have you lost your short-term memory?” Jason asked, “Because I swore I said –”

“I don’t need you to repeat the bullshit excuse you came up with on the spot.” Ouch. Looks like the baby bird still had talons. “What are you trying to do, Jason? Why did you buy me ice cream?”

“Sue a guy for trying to be nice.”

“You weren’t trying to be nice three weeks ago,” Tim said, his eyes narrowed.

Jason leaned forward and stared until the kid twitched and edged back. “Maybe I changed my mind,” Jason said quietly. He waited a beat. “Or maybe I didn’t.”

The kid’s eyes widened for a moment before they narrowed again, the brief flash of fear covered up by irritation. “You know you don’t have to do this, Jason. You can just _go home_.”

Jason laughed, the scoff derisive and unamused. “My last home was a coffin six feet underground, Replacement, and I’m not going back. Shut up and eat your ice cream.”

The kid looked at his ice cream and seemed to marshal the last remnants of his courage. “Dick brought me here once.”

The plastic spoon snapped in Jason’s fingers.

“He said he promised to take you here and never got the chance.”

Green whispering into his ears, coiling around his limbs, pulsing in tune to his heartbeat.

“He –”

“I want you to think very carefully about your next words,” Jason’s voice said, the words dripping from a mouth that didn’t belong to him as rage throbbed in his ears. Everything felt distant. Like a fog.

Everything except those narrowed blue eyes and the neck he could snap like a twig.

Jason slid his hand under the table, to the holster concealed by his jacket.

“Are you going to shoot me?” the kid asked, looking supremely unconcerned, “Here? In an ice cream shop? Are you going to ruin the day of every child in this place, leave them with bloody, screaming nightmares for years?”

Everything was foggy. A girl’s giggle cut through the static. A little boy slurping a milkshake. A high-pitched squeal of joy.

“You can’t stay in the ice cream shop forever,” Jason’s voice said lowly.

Tim crossed his arms, like he wasn’t sitting in an enclosed booth with a murderer, three feet away from the man who had strangled him and shot him and broken two ribs. “No, Jason, I’m not playing this game. This is me calling your bluff. If you wanted me dead, _I’d be dead_.”

“I don’t want you dead,” Jason said, because it was the truth. “I just want you to suffer.”

“Calling that bluff too.”

The green hissed. _Make him hurt_ , it demanded. Make him pay for everything he’d just dredged up, everything Jason didn’t want to think about, every jitter-thread of rage searing through his body.

“The last time we faced off, it ended very badly for you,” Jason said quietly, “Are you sure you want a rematch?”

Tim shrugged, his shoulders stiff and his jaw tense. He was angled for a blow despite everything he’d just said, his head ducked and hair falling across his eyes. “Prove me wrong,” he said, and managed to keep his voice level.

Jason straightened, standing up and bracing himself on the table as he loomed over the kid. Blue eyes went wide. “You’re going to regret that,” Jason hissed, and stalked out.

* * *

Jason crept through the silent house, aiming for the bedroom he’d already scouted once. No traps. No alarms. The windows were painfully easy to sneak through – probably by design. Either way, Jason eased open the bedroom door to see a pile of twisted limbs and a face slack in sleep.

Jason grinned.

He moved forward silently, not letting a single stray creak betray his presence. He brushed by the edge of the bed and braced himself on the frame as he slowly leaned over, careful not to jostle the mattress as he hovered over the sleeping form, fingers drifting out –

He clasped a hand over the kid’s mouth and Tim woke up instantly.

Blue eyes widened, pupils expanding until there was barely any color left, body tense as it stalled halfway from the instinctive urge to struggle as Tim registered just who was crouching over him in his bed.

Jason pressed a finger to his lips.

Blue eyes narrowed, and Jason let go.

“What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?” the kid hissed.

“Need a favor,” Jason said, straightening up, “Come on, Timbers.”

“It’s four in the goddamn morning.” Oh, was the baby bird upset about being woken up? “Couldn’t this wait till a more reasonable time of day?”

“Nope.”

The kid groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Please tell me this is a strange dream,” he mumbled.

Jason helpfully reached out and pinched him.

The kid yelped and flinched back. “Come on, Timbird. We’re wasting time.”

“What do you want?” the kid sighed, resigned.

“I need you to get me into the Cave.” They’d disabled all his passcodes. Either Batman was as paranoid as rumored, or he’d learned from the mistakes at Titans Tower.

The kid watched him with naked suspicion. “Why do you need to get into the Cave?” he asked warily.

“That’s not the business of baby birds.”

“Why don’t you just ask Bruce?” the kid raised an eyebrow.

Jason couldn’t help the jolt of hoarse, unamused laughter. Like he was going to get anywhere near Batman. He had a plan, and it was going to work, and if he used the kid’s credentials, if he used a Robin to bring Batman down, so much for the better.

“Why _now_?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. It was just past four – Batman had long since returned from patrol, which meant that everyone in the house would be asleep until Alfred woke up at five thirty. Plenty of time to access the files he wanted.

“I don’t really have much of a choice in this _favor_ , do I.”

Jason shrugged, “You can maintain the illusion of free will if it makes you feel better.” He tossed the nearby coat at the kid, “Get dressed.”

The kid did not stop grumbling the whole way. It was the middle of the night, he hadn’t had coffee, it was cold, the grass was wet, he was tired, he had a test the day after, could Jason really not have brought his bike, he didn’t like walking, it was the middle of the night, blah, blah, blah. Jason ignored him.

They reached the Cave without any complications, and Tim let him inside, shivering even though he was dwarfed in his coat, and followed him as Jason headed for the center platform and the Batcomputer.

“What are you looking for, anyway?”

“Whoops,” Jason said, turning back to the kid, “Almost forgot.”

“Forgot what –” Tim’s eyes widened to saucers at the syringe in Jason’s hand – “No, Jason!” – and he stumbled a step back before Jason caught up and plunged the needle into the side of his neck.

It took three seconds for the kid to sway and drop.

“You were just complaining about not getting enough sleep,” Jason said, depositing the kid in the massive rolling chair in front of the Batcomputer.

It was only a matter of minutes to transfer the relevant information over to his pen drive, and Jason straightened, ready to leave, before he caught sight of a glass case standing in the shadows.

He knew that suit.

The edges of his vision tinted a light green as Jason moved, feeling like a sleepwalker stuttering through fog as he got closer and closer.

Every rip mended like he couldn’t spot the stitches. Every bloodstain scrubbed like he couldn’t see the faded shadows. Every inch polished, like he couldn’t remember exactly where the crowbar hit and slashed and _tore_.

_A good soldier_ , the plaque said.

The green choked him.

When he came back to himself, the case was in a thousand glass pieces, the suit as torn as it was the last time he’d worn it. The green hissed and sputtered around him, feeding into the rage, feeding from the rage.

Jason forced himself to turn and leave. He had a plan. Batman was going to pay. He was going to make that man bleed for everything he’d done to him.

_He’s right upstairs,_ the green said. It would be child’s play to go up there and shoot him in the head.

Jason had a plan. It wouldn’t hurt nearly enough if the man died sleeping in his bed. He had to get out of here.

On his way out, he paused to drape a blanket over the kid curled up awkwardly in the Batcomputer chair.


	3. Chapter 3

He wasn’t concerned. He’d just gotten used to knowing exactly where the Replacement was, and the fact that he hadn’t been back in his bedroom since Jason had drugged him was…strange.

Searing sands and a goodbye note and nothing went right when a Robin was missing –

Jason _wasn’t concerned_. He was just scouting where he’d need to go if he ever wanted to recruit the kid into another favor, and it made sense that Tim would abandon his poorly defended house for the Manor, especially since his parents never seemed to be home. And thus Jason was sneaking back into the home – the _house_ – he hadn’t been to in three years.

Batman knew a lot, but Jason had mastered slipping out of the house years ago, and he traversed the remembered path, ducking between camera and sensor blind spots, and scaling the small tree that was close enough to the Manor that Jason could jump and catch the edge of a window ledge.

The window slid open easily, and Jason gracefully tumbled inside.

And froze.

He’d expected – well, he hadn’t expected anything, but he’d been prepared for an empty room, stripped and bare. Or perhaps filled for a different kid, another tick in the list he’d long since stopped tracking. Or full of boxes, a fifteen-year-old’s life carefully packed away.

He didn’t expect to step foot into the past.

Absolutely nothing had been changed. Even his _homework_ was right where he left it, half-filled on the table, the angry scrawl petering out as his rage found an outlet, a plan, an idea so awful he wished he could go back in time to force himself to stop.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself there. Could imagine throwing the list of women’s names into the fire and going back to bed. Could imagine finishing the homework, reading the stack of books on his shelf, going downstairs for Alfred’s breakfast.

There were awful, tearing, choked gasps filling the room and it took him a long moment to realize they were his. He stumbled back and hit the bed and didn’t even try to stop himself from sinking down and curling his arms around himself and letting the sobs rip through his chest.

He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back so badly it _hurt_ , the longing flaying him open to the bone and Jason had never felt so lost –

The door creaked and Jason looked up in time to catch dark hair in his blurred vision before it whipped out of sight.

Great.

Jason dragged a hand over his face, like wiping evidence of his tears would help when they wouldn’t stop falling. “I know you’re there,” he said hoarsely, shifting back. At least he’d gotten what he’d come for.

“I’m sorry,” the Replacement squeaked on the other side of the door, “I didn’t mean to –”

“What are you doing?” Jason asked, tired.

A short silence, but no sound of retreating footsteps. “I’m sorry,” Tim repeated, “No one goes into the room, and I heard – I was worried.”

Jason wondered if he could get away with toppling back on his bed and closing his eyes and ignoring the world. Probably not. Someone would find him.

“…Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I – you seemed pretty against coming to the Manor, so I just –”

“This isn’t a reunion,” Jason warned, “I didn’t come here to see Bruce.” Another stretching silence. “Get in here before you tip someone off.”

The door opened again, slow and tentative, and Tim poked his head inside. He winced when he saw Jason, which was a telling indicator of what he looked like, but he eased inside and closed the door.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow, “Decided to join the family?”

“I – what? No. I’m not – I’m not part of – it’s your fault,” the kid finished sullenly.

“Oh?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Somehow they figured that my house wasn’t the safest place,” Tim rolled his eyes, “After you kidnapped and _drugged_ me.”

“You followed me willingly, kid, I’m not responsible for your actions,” Jason smirked, “And they’re right, your home security is shit.”

The kid opened his mouth to argue, realized that the person he was arguing with had broken in twice already, and closed it. Smart bird. Jason heaved a sigh and got off the bed. He’d managed to fantastically ruin his morning – at least if he pilfered some of his old books, the day wouldn’t be a complete loss.

“They didn’t,” the kid said quietly as Jason sorted through his books and picked out a few titles he hadn’t yet read.

“Mm?”

“I’m not a part of the family. I’m not his son,” Tim said, and Jason used all of his control to keep his movements smooth as he straightened. Tim was staring at him, his hands curled in his lap, “I’m just a guest.”

Jason couldn’t help the snort. Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s your bedroom, kid?” Jason asked, pocketing the books and heading back to the window.

“Four doors down,” the kid replied, clearly suspicious, “On the left.”

Jason pulled the window open. “This is the family wing, baby bird,” he said, stepping up onto the ledge, “There are no guest rooms in this hall.”

He jumped for the tree before he did or said something he’d regret, and walked out of the Manor without looking back.

* * *

He knew the kid had clocked him coming down the stairs, but Tim had only stiffened as Jason crept across the floor of the Cave and Jason ignored him in favor of exploring what had changed since he’d been Robin. Nightwing and Batman was both out on patrol and Jason was getting tired of running from them. Much better to not be there entirely, and ruffle a baby bird’s wings in the bargain.

Of course, the kid _could_ comm Nightwing and Batman and cause both of them to come rushing back, but Jason had a dim view of the kid’s self-preservation instincts.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked finally, speaking up as Jason moved to the weapons case. He’d abandoned the Batcomputer entirely, his narrowed gaze fixed on Jason.

The cast was gone, as was the wrist brace, and there was no sign of any other injuries. Jason didn’t know why Tim wasn’t back on patrol, but he suspected it had something to do with him.

Jason ignored his question and picked up a bo staff. The _kid’s_ bo staff. Tim’s gaze narrowed even further. “That’s not yours,” he said, clipped.

Jason spun it in one hand, “Maybe you should come take it from me.”

Tim stilled, his arms tensing from where they were crossed across his chest. “I’m not fighting you,” he said lowly.

“A friendly spar,” Jason said, using the staff to whip through a basic form. It was never his preferred weapon, but it would have to do. “I’m sure you want a rematch.”

Tim’s eyes flashed, and Jason grinned. The kid’s gaze dragged over Jason, clearly noting the lack of body armor and guns, before snapping back to Jason’s face. “No.”

Jason let the smile slip off his face, piece by piece. The kid stiffened even further, as if he was only now realizing that they were alone down here, and definitely not likely to be interrupted for several more hours.

Jason tossed the bo staff at Tim, and he caught it easily, a wary expression stealing over his face. “You _sure_ you don’t want a rematch?” Jason drawled, picking up another staff and edging back onto the training mats.

The kid cast a glance back at the Batcomputer before he turned back to Jason, his expression steeling over to grim resolve. “I think you’re going to regret asking for one,” he said, joining Jason on the mats.

Jason let his lips stretch to a wolfish grin.

The spar started slow – the kid was definitely skittish about getting close, and Jason let him keep his distance as he probed. There hadn’t been much time in the Tower to pick up the kid’s fighting style, not through the confusion and panic, and Jason was pleasantly surprised as the spar kicked up into a higher gear.

The kid was good. The kid was _trained_ , and not by Bruce or even by Dick because the Golden Boy hadn’t been this good with the staff. It meant that Jason was definitely outclassed, or he would’ve been, if the kid didn’t retreat every time he got close enough to press the victory.

Tim’s fingers were clutching his staff so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He was staring at the staff in Jason’s hands, at his footwork, at his movements, but every so often his gaze would skitter back up to Jason’s face and he would flinch, a shudder running through his limbs.

Jason didn’t like it.

The next time, he didn’t let Tim retreat – he used the opportunity afforded by the withdrawal to press his attack, catching Tim’s strike and twisting – the staffs clattered out of both their hands and Jason lunged forward with a punch.

Tim dodged, his eyes going wide, and Jason swiveled, stepping forward to hook a foot around the kid’s ankle, and _tug_ – one hand grabbing his arm and twisting and following the whole movement down until Jason was pinning the kid to the floor.

Victory.

Tim writhed underneath him, struggling to get him off, and Jason loosened his grip slightly, afraid the kid would dislocate his shoulder trying to wrench his arm out of Jason’s grasp. His breathing had gone too-high and too-fast, gasping flutters against the mats, and Jason leapt up the moment Tim’s fingers rapped against his arm.

He retreated two steps back, just in case, and waited for the kid’s breathing to even out. “Tim?” Jason called out quietly.

Tim finally let out a slow exhale before twisting up to a sitting position. Jason offered him a hand. Tim eyed it, eyed him, and Jason barely managed to register the spark in his eyes before he grabbed Jason’s hand and used it to tug him down.

Jason let himself fall with the movement, twisted his wrist to get out of the grip, slammed the kid’s shoulder back against the ground and completed the roll to straighten back to his feet. He padded back to lean over the kid with a shark-toothed grin.

Tim, flat on his back, glared at him.

“Dick used that move on me long before he ever used it on you,” Jason said, deeply amused.

Tim straightened without assistance and went to pick up both their staffs. “Another?” he asked, offering one staff back to Jason.

Jason took it and settled back into position. This time, the kid didn’t hold back.

* * *

Jason lurked in the rafters, intending to be a silent observer to the deal happening below him – there were rumors that something fishy was going on, and Jason planned to use the knowledge to nudge Crime Alley a little further into his pocket. Once the Alley was his, he could confront Batman.

If certain little meddling birds would just _let it be_ –

Jason hung his head and growled, low enough that the helmet’s speakers wouldn’t pick it up. The kid had probably snuck out, sick of being benched and just as reckless as every Robin before him.

In ten seconds and one thrown birdarang, the deal dissolved into chaos.

Jason straightened, drawing his gun and watching the pandemonium below. The kid was good, staff lashing out to catch joints and strain muscles as he whirled in the middle of the fight, dodging knives and curses. One against ten was perhaps not equal odds, but Batman would show up soon – several of the thugs were already casting glances at the ceiling, searching for a dark shadow.

That was his cue to leave. Before he strangled the baby bird for ruining a perfect setup. Jason twisted towards the skylight, still tracking the battle below him –

One of the thugs had apparently decided that friendly fire was acceptable collateral and drew his gun.

The _bang_ echoed in the warehouse, stilling all movement for a single second. The thug dropped to the ground, blood pooling from the headshot, and everyone stared at him in shock.

Robin looked at the corpse and then up, finding him almost instantly. Jason offered him a salute with the gun, stepping back as the kid reached for his grapple. But the others jolted into motion and Robin was forced to deal with the fight on the ground, periodically casting glares Jason’s way as he left thugs moaning on the ground.

“You didn’t need to kill him!” Robin shouted once all the criminals were down. Jason kept his gun out, in case anyone chose this opportunity to grab a fallen weapon and attack.

“You’re welcome,” Jason called back, and the Replacement seethed.

“Murder is not the answer,” the kid said, and his tone sounded so much like Batman that Jason’s vision wavered, everything washing green.

Jason hooked his grapple without even registering the motion, slamming into the warehouse floor with a force that his knees would not thank him for. “Really?” he said, the mechanized voice turning his tone eerily flat, “I’ve been watching these guys for a long time, Replacement, and each one of them has earned several life sentences.”

“Hood –”

“That one, for example,” Jason pointed with the gun to a thug who was trying to inch away, “Three counts of murder. Domestic violence. And you really don’t want to know what he did to the last girl unfortunate enough to take his money.” He squeezed the trigger, and the kid jumped back in shock.

“Or that one,” Jason turned the gun to the next one, a man who whimpered when the muzzle was aimed at him, “He likes selling to kids, but he likes his profit more. The last thing he cut his product with caused three teenagers to vomit until they died.” _Bang_.

“Or _this_ one –” Jason pointed, and Robin stepped until he was standing between the gun and its intended victim. “Get out of the way, Replacement.”

“No,” the kid said, standing his ground, his staff held in determined hands like it would do anything to protect him from a bullet.

“Do you think I won’t shoot you?”

The kid hesitated, before his face slipped into a blank mask. “I don’t care,” he said, quiet but resolute, “I’m not letting you murder them.”

Bold words, for a pack of scum that didn’t deserve mercy – the one behind Robin was already fumbling for his gun, taking advantage of the kid’s distraction. Jason swiveled the gun to point at a criminal half across the room and Robin lunged after him with a shout –

Jason swung the gun back and shot the man dead before he got his hands on the trigger. “That one,” Jason said coldly, “Was about to shoot you in the back.”

Robin didn’t say anything. Just set his jaw and attacked.

It wasn’t a repeat of the Tower, mainly because this time Jason didn’t want the kid dead and Robin was creeping very close to murderous levels of anger. Jason managed to squeeze off one more bullet before the kid’s staff cracked down on his hand hard enough to break it, forcing him to let the gun drop as he retreated.

“Killing is not the answer,” the kid hissed, aiming for Jason’s helmet. Jason ducked, blocked the next strike with his right arm, and twisted around, lunging for his gun. A birdarang nearly sliced his arm open before he got his uninjured hand on the gun, aimed, and fired the last bullet.

“Killing is sometimes the answer,” Jason countered, as the sixth criminal dropped.

“Murder isn’t going to solve anything!” the kid shouted, advancing again, and Jason took the next strike on his armor, hissing as the sharp crack slammed into his ribs. “I thought _you_ , at least, would realize that death has consequences!”

“ _Excuse me_?” Jason hissed, ducking the next strike and lashing out with the empty gun, “I got the consequences loud and clear, Replacement –”

The kid froze and Jason stilled mid-strike. “What?” he asked, his throat dry, “What is it?”

Did someone get off a shot when Jason wasn’t paying attention? Was the kid injured after all? What had –

“Do you hear that?” the kid asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jason strained his ears – the problem with the helmet was that it slightly muffled his surroundings, no matter how much tech he stuffed into it, but he thought he could hear a faint sound, quiet and barely distinguishable, almost like –

Ticking.

“Bomb,” Jason breathed out, holstering his weapon. The kid was already at the center table, peering below it and withdrawing with a hiss. “One minute,” the kid said, as Jason jogged up to check for himself.

It was heavy-duty explosives – it would bring the building down, and there wasn’t enough time to defuse it, even if Jason’s breathing hadn’t gone shallow and harsh as the ticking filled his ears and the timer clicked down, second by second by second.

“We need to get out of here,” Jason said, roughly hauling the kid back and shooting a grapple for the ceiling. Robin fought his way out of Jason’s grip the moment they landed in the rafters, already readying his own grapple.

“We can’t leave them here,” he said, aiming to go back to the floor, back to the _bomb,_ and Jason grabbed him before he could shoot his grapple gun.

“Leave them,” Jason hissed, dragging the kid towards the window, “They made their bed, they can lie in it. We need to get out.”

“We need to save them!”

“No,” Jason snarled, shaking the kid, “No, you _don’t_! They’re scum, and every one of them would’ve left you for dead. You don’t owe them anything.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the kid said, tearing himself out of Jason’s grip with an elbow to bruised ribs, “We’re better than them. We’re supposed to _protect_ them.”

“They don’t deserve your protection,” Jason snapped.

“It’s not about what they deserve.”

But it was. Everything was about what they deserved, what he deserved, because the Joker deserved a bullet between his eyes and Jason deserved to go home and those men deserved to die and why was it so difficult to _understand_ –

A shadow, darker than the rest, and Jason acted.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly, gun pressed to the kid’s jaw, “Or I’ll blow his brains out.”

Batman froze. On the other end of the rafter, something squeaked and Jason turned to see Nightwing hovering on his other side, just barely in his periphery.

Boxed in. The window was behind him, if he could reach his grapple before either Batman or Nightwing attacked –

“Leave,” Jason snarled, “Get out. Or you’re both going to see exactly how a Robin dies.”

The kid choked in his grasp, and Jason could feel his fluttering heartbeat. The green rage had abandoned him completely – all he had was the dread in his gut and the sick churning that accompanied it, the icy curl of failure creeping around his limbs.

“Hood,” Batman growled, “Let him go.”

“Leave,” Jason snapped, “And maybe I will.” A beat of silence. “I can hear you, Nightwing, and if you take another step, I’ll shoot.” He curled his finger around the trigger to solidify the threat.

The kid took a breath and held it, shivering.

“Hood –”

“ _Leave_ –”

“Don’t,” Tim said quietly, and all of them froze, “Don’t – he won’t shoot.”

“Excuse me?” Jason hissed, tightening his grip, “I shot you once already, Replacement, don’t presume –”

“He won’t hurt me,” the kid said, louder, and Batman looked at both of them before edging forward a step.

“I am going to strangle you,” Jason said quietly, “I will wrap my fingers around your throat and squeeze until you turn blue, until all your struggling dies, until you go limp, and then I will snap your neck like it’s a twig.”

The kid exhaled shakily, and tilted his head until he was looking up at the helmet, “Prove me wrong.”

Jason’s finger tightened on the trigger.

“Hood –”

Robin stilled suddenly. “Wait,” he gasped, and both Batman and Nightwing froze. “Did anyone defuse the bomb?”

The ticking was in his head, in his ears, the timer counting down, _tick_ , tick, _tick_ , a door that wouldn’t open no matter how hard broken fingers _yanked_ –

“What bomb?” Nightwing asked, his voice distant.

The kid cursed – Jason could already see fire, feel it searing across skin and burning him alive and – Robin twisted out of his grasp, knocking the empty gun out of his hand –

“Jason!” someone shouted, and there was an arm around him and a grapple firing – Jason was rudely knocked back to the present as the world spun around him, desperately clutching the line as they crashed through the skylight.

Their landing was rough – they skidded across the rooftop and Jason immediately twisted to cover the kid, pinning him down and curling over him – _three,_ two _, one_ –

The warehouse exploded with a blistering wave of heat and force.

Everything was ringing – collapsed rubble around him, smoke burning in his chest – someone squirming out from under him – skin on fire, broken bones twisting – sirens wailing in the distance –

Fingers at his jaw, scrabbling at the edge of his helmet, and Jason moved, catching flailing fingers in a tight grip. He pressed a wavering hand to the sides of his helmet and it _click_ ed – he let go of Tim’s hand to pull the helmet off, weakly coughing and brushing the hair out of his domino mask as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, his injured hand pressed tightly to the shifting pressure-pain in his chest.

The warehouse was in smoldering pieces and the air was thick with smoke – he should’ve kept the helmet on, all he could smell was fire, and he could almost hear mad cackling over the ringing in his ears.

He felt the vibrations of boots landing on the rooftop, one pair after another, and a familiar prickle danced down his spine as Batman stopped in his periphery.

He froze. He didn’t need to turn his head to know that Nightwing was behind him. He’d lost his gun and Tim was hovering out of easy reach, clearly unwilling to play hostage again.

“Hood,” Batman growled.

Jason exhaled slowly. It looked like the game was over. He had a plan – he’d wanted to – he had –

But this was Batman. Of course he would never let it get that far.

“Fine,” he rasped quietly, “You caught me.” Something clenched around his heart as he forced himself to raise his arms, holding his wrists up in surrender. “Which will it be?” he asked, too raw to conceal the pain, “Blackgate?” The better option, please, _please_ – “Or Arkham?”

He couldn’t hide the way his tone wavered.

“No,” Tim said immediately, darting forward, “No, you’re not taking him to prison. You can’t – he didn’t –”

“He killed a lot of people,” Batman growled, “Including six tonight.”

“He was _dead_ ,” Tim countered, “You know the side effects of the Lazarus Pit, Batman, you can’t –”

“He hurt you,” Batman said flatly, and Jason shuddered at his tone.

“And that’s between me and him,” Tim argued, “And I’m telling you –”

“Don’t,” Jason said, abruptly exhausted. He couldn’t find the rage or fury, only the twelve-year-old’s stark terror at being confronted with a shadow while he was doing something he absolutely should not have been doing. “Don’t, baby bird, I –”

“Shut up,” the kid snapped, and Jason shut his mouth in surprise. “He just wants to come home,” Tim said, facing Batman and Nightwing, “He wants to _come home_ and neither of you even tried to bring him back!”

Nightwing and Batman exchanged a long look. Tim stared at them, hands balled into fists, still trembling. The sirens were wailing, accompanied by the hiss of steam as they attempted to put out the fire.

Nightwing was the one who crept forward, slipping past Tim and crouching at Jason’s side. “Little Wing?” came the soft voice, and Jason didn’t resist as hands curled around his shoulders.

He couldn’t resist. The fight had been drained out of him, the rage banked by a kid’s blind faith and blocked by the vivid memory of dying in fire. He could imagine the padded cuffs locking around his wrists, the blurriness of drugs, the mad laughter he’d never be able to escape, and he still couldn’t move.

“Jaybird,” the voice said quietly, enveloping him in warmth. Jason shuddered as fingers ran through his hair, his face pressed against a blue-and-black weave as a heartbeat pulsed steadily against his cheekbone.

“Please,” Tim said, his voice wavering, “He doesn’t deserve to go to Arkham.”

But he did. His anger had a shorter fuse than it’d ever been when he was alive. Death had changed him, and he could never go back.

The grave he should’ve stayed in.

The bright, laughing Robin that died far too young.

That stupid ice cream shop, the promise broken – not by Dick, but by Jason’s foolish decision to hunt down a mother that had never wanted him.

The good soldier, the memorial to a Robin that was better in death than he’d ever been in life.

His bedroom, unchanged, waiting for a boy that was never coming back.

Jason knew that he came back wrong. The Lazarus Pit was an excuse. His rage was an excuse. Even at the heights of his anger, he would’ve never tried to attack a kid for no greater reason than that he’d taken what Jason had wrongfully assumed would always be his.

Tim deserved Robin. Jason had attacked him, frightened him, kidnapped him, and drugged him, and the kid was _still_ standing there, defending him.

“He’s not going to Arkham.”

Jason let his eyes drift shut. He didn’t want to imagine what hole he’d be dropped into, what would be enough for a man too broken even for the prison that held the Joker.

“Jay-lad.” Jason’s eyes snapped open – that was _Bruce_ , not Batman, the cowl was on but his voice was no longer a low growl as he crouched in front of Jason. “Please come home.”

Jason stared at him, still half-curled in Dick’s arms. Batman waited. Tim hovered at his shoulder, silent. Dick tightened his grip, but said nothing.

“You’re joking,” Jason finally croaked out.

Dick’s hold constricted to near-suffocating as Tim winced, but Batman made no visible reaction. “No, Jason,” he said quietly, “I’m not joking. Please come home.”

“You didn’t –” Jason was choking, everything was too tight and too close and too _much_ – “You just – you never – why _now_ –”

There was a gloved hand at the side of his face, pressing against his mask, unsealing it easily. Batman peeled it off, slow and gentle, and Jason blinked, feeling abruptly naked without that one last defense. “Jay,” Batman said in Bruce’s voice, “If I’d known you were alive, I would’ve scoured every inch of this universe to get you back.”

No. _No_. It was all the right words, but Jason didn’t want to hear them, didn’t want to feel them feed into the spiral tugging him down, into shame and disappointment and failure. He shook his head, his vision blurring. “Don’t,” he rasped, “It’s not that simple.” He raised his gaze, “I hurt Tim.”

“You didn’t –” Tim immediately protested, the self-sacrificing _idiot_ , but Batman cut both of them off.

“That is between you and him,” he said, “If Tim says he doesn’t hold it against you, then I’ll take him at his word.”

“Just like that?” Jason raised an eyebrow, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest.

Batman tilted his head, “Are you planning to hurt him again?”

Jason recoiled instantly, which was apparently answer enough. Tim stepped forward, his arms crossed. “I want you to come home,” he said stubbornly.

Jason raised a hand to cover his face. “The self-preservation instincts of a _lemming_ ,” he muttered, and Dick huffed out a chuckle.

“Then perhaps you should come back and teach your little brother some self-esteem,” Dick murmured, and both of them watched as Tim choked on air.

Jason took a deep breath – this wasn’t real. It was a dream, magical and perfect and Jason wanted to believe it but _it wasn’t real_. It was Batman watching a thief put his tires back on and taking him out for food and giving him a home and Jason knew full well how that dream had ended.

It wasn’t real, but Jason was too tired to fight his way free. To tear at the lies until he found the truth. He was too tired, period. He hadn’t slept properly since he was dead.

He exhaled, and went limp. “Fine,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

* * *

Jason felt the vibration of nearing footsteps and straightened, leaning against the wall as the door opened. Tim poked his head out, and froze.

“Jason?” the kid asked slowly, “Is everything…okay?”

No. Nothing was okay. He was on house arrest – or at least he thought he was, he hadn’t actually tried leaving – and Bruce was being awkward, and there were tears in Alfred’s eyes, and Dick kept trying to hug him, and Tim was the only one acting like the normal ruffled baby bird he was.

“Fine,” Jason said, resisting the urge to fidget, “Can we talk?”

The kid’s face pinched, before smoothing to an eerie blankness. “Sure,” he said, in a near-robotic impression, “Now?”

Jason nodded.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Uh,” Jason cast a glance around the empty corridor. Bruce was in his study and Dick was training in the Cave. The only one who might overhear them was Alfred, and Alfred knew everything anyway. “Here is fine.”

Tim closed the door behind him and stared at Jason, his face still unnaturally expressionless.

Jason swallowed. “Um. I – I know I – I mean –” He cut himself off, and tried again. Short and simple.

“I’m sorry.”

The kid blinked. “For what?” he asked, his voice guarded.

Jason stared at him. _Jesus Christ_ – “For attacking you,” Jason clarified, which was not a thing he thought needed clarifying, “For drugging you. For holding you hostage. For pretty much everything I did since coming back to Gotham.”

The kid still looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I don’t – you don’t need to forgive me,” Jason said quietly, “That’s not what this is. If you don’t – if you want me to leave, I will. I wanted to apologize. I’m not – I won’t do it again. I never – I was just –” _Excuses_ , his mind hissed, _those are all excuses, you did, you wanted to, you were looking forward to tearing out his throat and laughing while you did it_ –

“I know, Jason,” Tim said softly, “I figured it out after the ice cream. You stopped trying to attack me after I fell off the stairs. I know you’re sorry. I forgive you.”

Slow, careful arms wrapped around him and Jason let them, dropping his chin to rest on top of the kid’s head with a sigh. He didn’t deserve this.

_“It’s not about what they deserve.”_

When Tim let go and stepped back, his face was paler than it’d been before, still tracking Jason like he was an angry tiger with blood on his claws. “What?” Jason snapped, still a little raw.

“Was that…it?” the kid asked quietly.

It had taken Jason a full twenty-four hours to work up the nerve, and the kid wanted _more_? “I don’t know –”

“I meant,” Tim cut him off quietly, “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “No?” he said, stretching out the word, “Should there be?”

The kid’s gaze dropped to the ground as he twisted the hem of his shirt in his hands. “I thought,” he said, his voice small, “That you wanted to talk about Robin.”

Jason frowned. He wasn’t sure why the kid was talking about himself in the third person. “Why would I want to talk about Robin?” he asked.

Tim gave a half-shrug, still staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Jason stepped closer, and tilted the kid’s chin up until he was forced to look Jason in the eye. “Why would I want to talk about Robin?” he asked again, his voice hard.

“Because – because it’s _yours_ ,” Tim stuttered.

_“Perhaps you should come back and teach your little brother some self-esteem.”_

Jason sighed roughly and dragged the kid into another hug, ignoring his squeak as he trapped his limbs. “You’re going to listen carefully, because I don’t like repeating myself,” Jason growled, “Robin is not mine. You took up the mantle, fair and square, and I can’t take it from you.” The kid made a muffled sound of protest and Jason tightened his grip. “And if you keep arguing, you _will_ regret it.”

Tim squirmed out of Jason’s grasp and gave him a small smirk. “Really?” he arched an eyebrow, “You _just_ said you won’t attack me, Jason.”

Jason let his face split into a shark-toothed grin and Tim lost his smile. “Let me guess,” Jason drawled, shifting forward as the kid skittered a step back. “You were an only child.”

“I – I don’t see how that –”

“Oh, baby bird,” Jason said, slow and wicked, “I don’t need to _attack_ you to make you regret not listening to me.”

The kid stared at Jason, cataloguing his movements even as he shifted another step back. He swallowed, paled, and calculated his options.

He chose to run. Jason laughed, and chased after him.

Time to find out whether or not the kid was ticklish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason finally uses his words. Woo-hoo!
> 
> There _may_ be a follow-up chapter with little snippets of the in-between scenes from other characters' povs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Dick, catching the aftermath of Tim and Jason's meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, little snippets from the missing povs during this whole escapade.

“ _Incoming, Robin, B-02_ ,” the zeta announced and Bruce was briefly startled out of the train of thought on the case he was analyzing.

“You’re back early,” Bruce hummed, flipping to the next tab in the Batcomputer, “Everything okay with the Titans?” Tim wasn’t supposed to be back till Monday.

One minute and a previously undiscovered piece of evidence later, Bruce realized he’d never heard a response.

“Robin?” he called out, turning away from the Batcomputer. Silence. “Tim?”

Bruce sighed and got out of the chair – Dick and Tim had a running bet going on how many times they could sneak up on Bruce, and it was starting to get annoying. “Tim, are you there?” he asked, heading to the zeta door. He hadn’t heard the hiss of the pressurized door opening.

“Tim?” he asked again, pulling open the door and bracing for whatever prank the Titans had no doubt talked Tim into.

Surprisingly, no glitter bombs erupted in his face, and Bruce squinted at the empty interior of the zeta, what –

There was a crumpled pile of limbs on the floor of the tube. There was a crumpled pile of limbs wearing a familiar cape and suit and mask and all Bruce could think was _not again, please not again_.

Breathing. Tim was breathing, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Bruce quickly catalogued injuries as he carefully gathered Tim in his arms and carried him to the medbay – dislocated shoulder, bullet graze, broken wrist, broken leg, bruises all over his face, the imprint of fingers around his neck – had Titans Tower been attacked? What the _hell_ was going on?

Only after he roused Alfred, alerted Dick, got Tim to the clinic and was reassured that he was going to be fine, did Bruce remember a stray, niggling thought.

Tim’s zeta identification was _Robin, B-03_.

* * *

“Tim?” Dick called out quietly, and the kid flinched so violently that Dick immediately scanned the cemetery for anything out of place. He found no sign of any imminent attack, though, and turned his attention back to Tim.

The kid’s face was splotchy and his eyes were rimmed with red and Dick made a soft sound as he knelt down next to him and opened his arms for a hug. Tim dived into his embrace without a second’s hesitation, shuddering so hard Dick was worried about a seizure.

“Tim,” Dick said, low and soothing, as he rubbed circles in the kid’s back – he caught sight of the headstone, and his breath hitched. “Timmy, it’s okay.”

“It’s _not_ okay,” Tim stuttered, clinging tighter. Dick slowly rocked him back and forth, staring at the headstone. Dick had been there when Tim made his report in slow, halting statements, pausing to look up at a stony-faced Bruce, and Dick had been there for Bruce’s subsequent rage in the Cave – he refused to believe that Jason could be back, and was obsessively hunting for the man who called himself the Red Hood.

Dick – Dick knew that coming back from the dead wasn’t the craziest thing that had happened to any one of them, but Dick couldn’t believe that any version of Jason could assault a kid.

But Tim was _crushed_. Dick knew that Jason had been Tim’s Robin, more than Dick ever was, and the idea that someone had stolen Jason’s face to brutally attack him was clearly weighing heavily on the kid.

“It’ll be okay,” Dick murmured, and vowed to find the pretender and utterly destroy them for daring to hurt his family.

* * *

Bruce stepped inside the front door, cautious but not worried. Not yet. The Red Hood had shown no sign of going after Tim after the attack at the Tower, but Tim was still slowly healing from the injuries he’d gotten from their last altercation.

“Tim?” he called out. Tim had insisted on making a side trip to his house before they returned to the Manor, and Bruce’s uneasiness grew at the tangible tension.

“Over here,” Tim called back, and Bruce exhaled in relief. Tim was perched at the top of the stairs, flipping through an album with a curiously blank expression on his face.

Bruce joined him, and something in his heart twisted – Robin, _Jay_ , so young and bright and _alive,_ and the wound that had never closed began aching again.

“Hey,” he said softly, “We’ll find Hood.” It didn’t take a genius detective to note Tim’s sudden preoccupation with memories of Jason, and something snarled inside of Bruce at the thought of a villain using his _dead son’s face_ to hurt more of his children.

Tim made a low, hiccupping sound that sounded slightly amused.

“Yeah,” he said, tracing the outline of Robin’s cape, “We will.”

* * *

Dick was slightly surprised when Tim called for a pick-up, and a bit bemused when he entered the ice cream shop. Tim was in a booth in the corner, his gaze fixed on the door, and he seemed to exhale in relief when Dick stepped inside.

“Hey,” Dick said, sliding into the booth and noting a half-eaten sundae and three-quarters of a milkshake, “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Tim said in what Dick personally referred to as his faux calm tone, words measured and level and utterly at odds with the trembling in his fingers.

“You sure?” Dick asked quietly, reaching out to wrap a hand around Tim’s shaking hands. Tim slumped slightly in his seat, tension slowly dissipating.

“Yeah,” Tim said softly, “I was just – went to get ice cream with a friend. They ditched me, and I – I’m sorry if I disturbed you, or something –”

“No, Tim, I’m happy to come pick you up,” Dick squeezed Tim’s fingers, “Are you sure everything’s fine?”

Tim turned a painfully fake smile on Dick. “Of course,” the kid chirped, moving to get out of the booth.

Dick watched Tim check all his sightlines as they left the shop, watched him tense at every dark shadow they passed, and watched him shoot a wary glance around the parking lot as Dick started his bike.

Dick kept his own attention on the alleys as they drove back to the Manor, searching for a glint of red.

* * *

Bruce sighed softly when he descended to the Cave to see Tim sleeping in the computer chair. “Were you working here the whole night?” he asked, reaching out to nudge Tim’s shoulder, “I thought you went home yesterday.”

The computer screen was dark and when Bruce switched it on, he found no evidence of what Tim was working on.

“Tim, come on. You’ll get a crick in your neck if you sleep here. Don’t you have school today?” Bruce gently nudged Tim’s shoulder again, and Tim only drooped further into the chair.

Bruce froze. There was a needle mark in Tim’s neck.

Immediately, he was checking vitals – heart rate normal, breathing normal, pupils nonresponsive – scooping Tim up and heading to the medbay to run a blood screen and internally screaming because how the _hell_ had someone attacked Tim in the _Cave_ – did someone hack the zeta permissions –

Halfway to the medbay, Bruce stilled again. There was a pile of broken glass and torn fabric on the floor, and an empty space where a memorial case once stood. His heart pounded faster.

By the time the tox screen came back, registering a mild sedative, Tim was already waking up, blinking bleary and confused eyes at Bruce.

Dick straightened from the pile of broken glass, holding up a shard painted red. Fresh blood.

Bruce clenched his jaw. Finally, _finally_ , he would get some answers.

* * *

Dick fought the instinctive curl of grief in his stomach and turned the doorknob, peering in to see his little brother sitting on the bed.

For a moment, Tim looked so much like Jason that it _hurt_.

“Hey, baby bird,” Dick smiled, edging inside, “What are you doing here?” The window was open and the branches of the tree outside swayed in a gentle breeze.

“I just –” Tim started, and fell silent. Dick empathized – they’d run the blood work ten times, and each time it came back with _‘Match found: Jason Todd’_.

Dick didn’t want to believe it. Bruce _couldn’t_ believe it.

But the coffin was empty and the memorial was smashed and Tim had _told_ them weeks ago.

Dick didn’t understand what Jason wanted. Why he had taken the moniker Red Hood. Why he’d attacked Tim twice now. What was the _point_? Why didn’t he just _come home_?

Dick sank down onto the bed next to Tim, and wordlessly curled an arm around the kid’s shoulders. Tim leaned further into the grasp, his eyes a million miles away.

“Dick?” he said finally, his voice small.

“Yeah, Tim?”

“I – the room you guys gave me – is it a guest room?”

Dick took a deep breath, surrounded by reminders of another little brother. “It was,” he said softly, “And now it’s _yours_.”

Tim looked at him, and then out the window, lost in thought.

_Little Wing_ , Dick thought, his heart aching, _please come home_.

* * *

Tim stepped away from the Batcomputer as Bruce and Dick got out of the Batmobile, his expression blank. Bruce winced – Tim hadn’t been pleased to stay off patrol, but until the Red Hood business was resolved, Bruce didn’t want him out there.

Jason. His son was alive. Or someone who’d done a _very_ good job of impersonating him.

“Hey, Timmy,” Dick smiled as he unsealed his mask, “Get in a good workout?”

Tim was covered in a sheen of sweat and was panting lightly. “Practice,” Tim muttered, before all-but-fleeing towards the stairs.

Bruce watched him go, and surveyed the rest of the Cave. Nothing out of place. But something was still itching at him, and he didn’t get to be a good detective by ignoring his instincts.

While Dick was getting changed, Bruce logged into the Batcomputer and drew up the Cave’s security feeds. It showed Tim at the Batcomputer for a couple of hours, before he headed to the mats. The camera over the mats showed Tim running through his staff forms, the same thing over and over and over. Not a movement out of place.

“What are you watching?” Dick asked. Bruce mutely rewound and played it from the start.

He paused at the two hour mark. Before Tim got out of the chair. He was turned towards the Batcomputer, but his head was angled like he was looking at something.

Or someone.

Tim got off the chair, still tracking something they couldn’t see, and paused at the edge of the camera range before he stepped forward. The next camera showed him on the mats, attention off of whatever he was looking at.

Dick exhaled, slow and quiet. “They came from the Manor,” he said quietly.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him and Dick took the mouse to rewind to start, when Tim’s shoulders slowly tensed and his head tilted. “Whatever he’s looking at,” Dick repeated, “They came from the Manor.”

From the Manor stairs. From the _secret_ entrance.

“Make sure Tim’s not injured,” Bruce ordered, settling in to do a full reveal of the Manor and Cave’s security systems.

They hadn’t seen a hint of the Red Hood on their patrols. And Jason knew how to bypass the Manor’s safeguards.

But what the hell did he _want_?

* * *

Dick couldn’t let go. Batman was driving, his hands tight around the steering wheel, Tim was fully twisted around in his seat, staring at Jason like he’d disappear if he looked away, and Jason was looking out the window, tense and still, utterly ignoring the hand that Dick had clutched between his.

_Fine_ , Jason had exhaled before going completely limp in Dick’s arms, and Dick had panicked for half a minute before he could be convinced that Hood hadn’t been hit by burning shrapnel and wasn’t bleeding out in Dick’s lap.

Jason. His little brother was _alive_. His little brother was the Red Hood.

Dick couldn’t reconcile Hood’s jagged, enraged movements, the blood and violence, the fury writ across all of Tim’s broken bones, with the quiet, shuddering kid pressing himself into a corner of the Batmobile.

But Tim had. Dick frowned, observing the visible portion of Tim’s face – the observation wasn’t wariness, it was _hope_.

_“He won’t hurt me.”_ Not a cocky bluff, but deep, unshakeable faith.

Dick’s slow, creeping suspicion over the past couple of weeks began to solidify.

“Tim,” Dick said quietly, “How many times did you meet Jason?”

The kid did a good job of suppressing the squeak, but that did nothing to hide the slow red flush crawling up his face.

“Oh,” Jason said, his voice mild, “He didn’t tell you?”

“Jason –”

“Cemetery,” Jason ticked off on his free hand, “His house, twice – the second time I kidnapped him. Ice cream. The Manor, twice. Well, two and a half, if you count me drugging him in the Cave. The Tower, obviously.”

“ _Jason_.”

“Ice cream?” Dick asked, blinking at Jason, “You took him out for ice cream?” Dick remembered picking Tim up at the ice cream shop – the same shop he’d once promised to take Jason to, and his eyes started prickling.

Jason stared at him, incredulous, “Is _that_ the only thing you got from that?”

“Robin,” Batman said, clipped, “Why didn’t you inform us of these meetings?”

“Because he’s an _idiot_ ,” Jason muttered snidely under his breath.

“You didn’t believe it was him,” Tim mumbled, “And I was trying to figure out what he wanted.”

“I _shot_ you, and you were trying to figure out _what I wanted_?!” Jason’s eyes were flashing green, and now Dick could see what Tim meant about the Lazarus Pit. The League of Assassins were going to get a pointed visit from Batman soon.

“It was a graze,” Tim said, with the confidence that that changed things.

Jason made a sharp, wordless cry and tore his hand from Dick’s grasp. Before Dick could react, he’d pressed himself further into the corner, pulling his legs up and burying his head in his knees.

“Oh, Little Wing,” Dick murmured softly, easing closer and fitting an arm around Jason’s shoulders. Jason let him and Dick curled closer, holding him as he shuddered.

Tim watched, stricken, from the front seat, and Dick raised an arm in invitation – the kid didn’t wait for a second one, immediately scrambling out of his seatbelt and across the console to squeeze next to Jason and curl into Dick’s hug.

Dick held his two little brothers and exhaled, slow and deep.

* * *

Bruce was startled on his walk to the dining room by the sound of screaming. _Tim’s_ screaming.

He was running before he even realized it, hurtling down the stairs, following the sound to the den, and staggering through the doorway –

Jason was pinning Tim to the floor, and the younger boy was writhing and _shrieking_ , his face red as he fought to breathe – Bruce didn’t know what sound he made, but both boys snapped their gazes to him and Tim gasped out a near-breathless plea, “Bruce, _help_.”

Five steps and a strong yank and he’d pulled Tim out from under Jason. The younger boy promptly hid behind him, shivering and hiccupping.

Jason regarded him with a blank, level stare.

“You know,” Dick said from the opposite doorway, smirking, “Bruce is ticklish too.”

Jason’s face cracked into a smile.

Bruce took a step back, still sheltering Tim, eyeing the grins on his eldest sons’ faces.

“Tim,” he said, taking another step back, “I think it’s time for a strategic retreat.”

Tim started running before Bruce even turned around, the traitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce & Dick: don't worry, Tim, we'll catch Hood!
> 
> Tim: ....right.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Revenant, Remnant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464383) by [Kgraces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kgraces/pseuds/Kgraces)




End file.
